


Unconditional Love

by tuliptae



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Sad Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26302366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuliptae/pseuds/tuliptae
Summary: Just me heavily self inserting
Collections: English Assignments





	Unconditional Love

**Author's Note:**

> TW !! implied suicide, homophobia

The butterflies in my stomach were raging, except they weren't butterflies. They were massive, red hornets threatening to spill out of my mouth, stings painfully digging into my stomach in protest of what I was about to do. I sat back down, desperately wiping my moist hands on my skirt for the thousandth time. My heart began pounding at the chime of keys in the living room, the light jingling of my mother's keys seemingly taunting me as I struggled to prepare myself for what was rapidly approaching. Just the thought of the conversation I was about to have made me feel as if I was about to jump into a shark tank, hands quivering and knees weak. I'd gone through it multiple times in my head, run through every possible outcome, every possible way it could go wrong. 

I knew I had to do this. It killed me a little inside every day I pretended to be someone I wasn't. It was as if someone had a tiny, sharp needle and was stabbing me over and over until every inch of my body was bleeding out, blood pouring out of me at a tantalisingly slow rate. I couldn't hold on any longer, so I stood up on wobbly knees and walked over to the door. Before I could stop myself once again, my clammy fingers gripped the cold, metal door knob and twisted. No turning back now.

Okay, maybe I could still turn back. Just go to my room and fall asleep. Fall asleep and never wake up. She was still staring at me, eyes boring into my soul and filing through every single thought and emotion I had hidden as I sat awkwardly on the couch in front of her. I was overthinking.

"What is it? I just got home love, I need to shower."

I turned to fiddling with a piece of string on my skirt, having discovered that wiping my hands had virtually no impact on the amount I was sweating. I shut my eyes, opening them again slowly. My mother was starting to look slightly concerned now. I was taking too long. 

"I have something to tell you." I squeaked out, my throat feeling as if a python was wrapped around it, squeezing until I couldn’t take another breath. Maybe I should just let the python do what it wants, maybe that was for the best. I still couldn’t make eye contact with her, the piece of string proving itself to be far more interesting than I had thought. This was a mistake. 

"Come on, you know I love you no matter what, right? Just tell me what it is Ahasna." My mother huffed. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to comfort me or telling me to hurry up so she could shower.

She was right though, a mother's love is unconditional, right? Yet she had always told me from a young age that same sex relationships were inherently evil, that homosexuals would have no chance of redemption after death. Did the rules change if I was her daughter? Damn it, I was taking too long.

"I'm a lesbian." I blurted out. 

Oh no. That wasn't the plan. I had a speech planned out. I'm still her daughter. I'm the same person I was three seconds ago. I needed to tell her that nothing's changed. I messed up. 

As I sat there, on that old couch with that horrendous grandma pattern I had always despised, I wondered if this was worth it. Maybe I should have just kept quiet, married some random guy, had children and lived a normal life. Lived whatever life my mother had expected me to. She had already sacrificed so much for me, from migrating to a country where she could barely speak the language, to remaining in an abusive relationship for years. This was a mistake. God, I was a horrible daughter. My mother wasn't saying anything. Was she ok with this? She's always told me she loved me unconditionally, so maybe that was true all along?

"Get out."

I had run through so many possibilities of her reaction, yet somehow this one never came to me. I had expected shouting, throwing things, maybe even beating me as she had when I was younger. The occasional "This hurts me more than it hurts you," thrown in to make herself feel better. Never had I considered the fact it wouldn’t even take her a second to consider what I had said before kicking me out. Somehow, the blow of those two words hurt me more than a beating ever could have.

Tears blurred my vision as I stood wordlessly. We've always had a relatively good relationship as mother and daughter. Up until this moment, I had always been able to discuss all of my problems with her. Maybe it was because of our close relationship that I knew there was no point in arguing back. There was no chance of convincing her that it was just a lie or a prank, let alone convincing her to allow me to stay. I was still unable to make eye contact with her as I walked out of the house I had grown up in, fully aware there was no chance of me ever stepping back inside.

I trudged to my friend’s house, phone in one hand and the other empty. There was nothing else that I could have taken with me anyway. To be honest, being kicked out didn’t escape my mind as I considered all of her possible reactions, hence why I was able to find somewhere to sleep so soon. However, the fact that she was unwilling to even discuss the topic with me before disowning me left me feeling as though I had not only been disowned, but also that she had ripped out my heart, ripped it into a thousand pieces, and stuffed it back inside. It hurt.

That night, as I slept on my closest friend's couch, I dreamt of walking around in a field of dying violets. Dull purple petals taint the striking white snow below, no longer pure. The winter air seeps into my bones through my thin layers of clothing, the refreshing coldness clinging to my skin desperately. As I crouch down, admiring the beauty of a flower even in its last moments, its petals tear and morph into an undeniably familiar face. Before I even have a chance to react, it begins cackling, teeth glinting and eyes squinted as if mocking me. All the flowers have morphed into the same, identical face, eyes sparkling with an offensive mirth. Hot tears began streaming down my face, my skin burning against the harsh winter air, the coldness no longer soothing. As I look down, petals are falling from my eyes. I fall to the floor, writhing in pain as my tears continue to turn to petals. The flowers continue cackling, unchanging as I struggle in pain on the floor. My limbs turn to flower stems and my body to a flower. A wilting violet, no different to the thousands of dying flowers surrounding me. 

Despite it all, I felt a strange lightness the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> my first work cause my teacher (known for being a harsh marker) gave me 68% but i thought it deserved better cause my previous teachers have given me 80+ for far worse texts


End file.
